2000-08-15 | 02:29:50

desert storm, part deux.

so we last left our heroine on one end of the phone line comparing the relative youthfulness of the boy she was dating to that of the girl the fellow on the other end of the line was dating. me and desert storm were pretty much even. almost a ten-year gap for each of us. then, the weighty silence on the other end of the line from him after my luke revelation.

desert storm suddenly had competition. i was no longer a lone ranger who he might later join on the trail once "hey nineteen" wore out her welcome.

the weighty silence spoke volumes: we both knew what was what. we both knew that we were dating the wrong people. we both knew we were attracted and shared some incredibly cool things in common. we both knew something must be done about it.

so, at then end of one business day, he strolled by my cubicle. just passing through. he glanced through some magazines on my desk and asked what i had planned for the night.

"ah, nothing," i said, attempting to be non-chalant, "and you?"

"well, i'm supposed to meet some friends at this bar, but i don't feel like going," he answered.

for the longest time, i had been trying to get desert storm to go see "swingers." it had just come out, but i had already managed to see it twice. i love that fucking movie. i'm sorry, but i do. for whatever reason, he hadn't seen it yet.

"hey, do you want to go see 'swingers' tonight...finally?" i prodded.

"sure, ok. cool!" he was gone in a flash, off to get his bag of tricks.

on the way to the theater, he made mention of my seemingly innocent demeanor.

"stick with me, and i'll have you shooting up heroin behind your knee in no time." i knew he was only kidding, but i was excited by what he said. ahem! by the bad boy schtick, not the shooting horse, silly.

we had a great time at the movie. he pinged me a note the next day, "i usually wait two days before e-mailing, but figured what the heck. next time, let's go for drinks after the show. i suggest hooters."

then came valentine's day. as i walked into my cube, desert storm called over the gray fabric walls: "i left you a card. i almost couldn't fit it in your chair with all that SHIT on it." come to find out little luke had brought me red roses and tons of hershey's kisses. stuck next to all of it on my seat was a bitterly funny card from desert storm. i can't remember its punchline, but rest assured, it was bitter. i got a special charge out of knowing that desert storm had had to machete his way through my luke-left booty to leave his miserable missive. heh heh.

the day after valentine's, desert storm got wind of his nemesis's idea of a date: a 10:30 p.m. dinner at a steakhouse. he was outraged! taking me, a vegetarian to a steak house?! at 10:30 at night?! what kind of lummox was this luke, queried desert storm of our mutual friend, c-girl.

c-girl relayed his distress to me with glee, for you see, she knew of my guerilla attempts to win his most favored nation status and got a kick out of the tables being turned. so did i. so did i. he was falling right into my little tender trap. bwahaha!

ground zero was president's day weekend. desert storm and i decided we should kick it due to a whole extra day off. he offered to drive to where i lived, almost an hour from his pad. this struck me as unusual. desert storm wasn't the most generous fella. he arrived in a black motorcycle jacket, jeans and a tight, white, long john-type shirt. and i mean tight. the boy had nice pecs, let me tell you. he was looking mighty fine. mkay? he never dressed like this at work. in later remembrances, he denied ever owning a tight, white, long john-type shirt, but i know what i saw...and lusted over. a girl don't forget shit like that.

that day, we went thrift store shopping and out for thai. he picked up the bill. i knew something was up. cheap ass desert storm picking up a bill? this was beginning to smack of a date! when he took his leave, his eyes got extra beady...nerves, i guess...and he kissed me, quickly on the veranda...i mean, lips. but we WERE on my veranda, actually. well, porch.

i remember running back upstairs to my apartment after he left, and spinning in circles saying, "i like him! i like this boy! i like him!!! ahhhh!"

later, i asked c-girl, "has desert storm ever kissed you when he's saying goodbye?" i suspected her answer to be no, and it was. a date had happened. hot damn, i say. hot damn!

so a week later, i had a chance to see a taping of "polictically incorrect." i asked my boss to go with me, but she couldn't wing it, so then...desert storm. he had to pull a couple of strings to leave work early, but we jetted up to l.a. and caught the taping.

afterwards, he suggested that we make night of it in the city. having just seen "swingers," he got the bright idea of going to places featured in the movie. cool by me!

first, we went to the derby where big bad voodoo daddy was playing. at one point, some dingbat college girls were positioned near us at the bar. they were singularly annoying with their hysterical chit-chat, so i began to imitate them for desert storm's amusement.

"ohmigod! so in class today...hey, look!" i percolated, as i tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, "ohmigod! it's a totally new hairstyle! you guys!"

desert storm grinned and stood up from his barstool.

"sometimes you just say things that require touching," he smiled and then hugged me. tight. that guy was fully qualified to give hugging lessons. he had the chops to set up a hugging pyramid scheme. that's some serious, jive-ass quality bonding that boy be throwing down.

post-hug...to the dresden to see the famed marty and elaine croon the shit out of standards like "muskrat love," complete with (very frightening) animal mating noises. we were standing close to each other and loving every minute of it. the fun of being out on a school night in the big city, the thrill of re-enacting the movie our way, and, most importantly, the culmination of all this banter, flirtation, co-writing and chemistry of the past several months--now all spinning together as neatly as vermouth and gin in a chilled martini glass.

the came the olive.

desert storm kissed me for the second time ever. right there. in front of marty and elaine and the whole world. it was a short peck on the lips, which was followed by a sly smile, but it foreshadowed many more kisses to come.

as midnight approached, we decided we'd better be leaving to drive the hour back to orange county to the office and his car. as we walked in the moonlight giggling, he said: "have you ever had a more perfect night?"

i could answer "no" honestly. the stars were aligned for baby and me, as anyone within 500 feet could see.

we got back to the office and stood between our cars. his car always took forever to warm up, so he started it first and then climbed out to face me in the light streaming out of the now-empty office windows.

he kissed me again and bit my lip gently.

"whoa," i said, "you ARE the mack daddy."

"you only say that...because it's truuuueee," he pursed.

then he was off in his white chariot. leaving me in a state of full-on twitterpaition.

this boy RULED! ahhhhhhhh! whoa, whoa, whoa!

ah, as for luke. you know the dirty deed which befell him due to my machinations. but luke had been so wrong for me, see? i was doing him a favor, see? i would have had to dump him when he got that fancy bmw and started acting like an asshole anyway, see?

now, for the nineteen-year-old. yes, desert storm gave her her walking papers, as well. she didn't take it in stride. told him she had dreamt he was seeing someone else. um, he didn't mention me in all this. just told her that he couldn't see her anymore. still, i was afraid to go into any victoria's secret store for fear of having my ass whupped.

let's reflect on one part of this story for a moment:

desert storm left a nineteen-year-old lingerie salesgirl for 31-year-old office gal me.

that was some kind of coup for womankind or something. you know what i'm sayin'? damn straight. word.

that ugly cradle dumping business aside, desert storm and i were now allowed to run headlong towards our special playpen of romance. we even had the added bonus of losing the "but we work together" hassles/confusion by me being laid-off two weeks after we started dating. i told people he was part of my severance package.

now, this is the part of the movie where they cut to the montage scene which illustrates in five relatively painless minutes watershed moments as the leading man and lady "fall in love" to the strains of the new hit single by michael mcdonald or linda ronstandt or a duet of the two. picture us laughing together, seeing movies together, going on dumb errands together and loving every minute of it. i was making him take our time in the bedroom, but we were building up to it slowly and sweetly...well, ok, there were a couple of "what's your hang-up?" moments, but i don't want to wake you from your blissful dream quite yet...

he made me an easter basket out of a shoe box covered with cool magazine tear-outs he had collaged with me in mind. inside was a note signed, "all my love." i teased him gently about that line, not at all expecting the stumbling, fumbling, preciously sweet monologue it awoke in him...

"i've never met anyone who i felt this way about. when i'm not with you, i look forward to the next moment i can be with you. when i am with you, it can't last long enough. i never get tired of you. with other girls, i could always take them or leave them, but you're different. i feel like i've met my partner in crime. you're hilarious, sweet, beautiful...what i'm trying to say is i love you."

i remember the moment clearly. he was sitting on my charming, yet completely uncomfortable, rattan couch. i was sitting, knees curled up, at his feet. it was night. the light was soft and dim around us.

he made me an easter basket out of a shoe box.

he said he loved me.

that beautiful, hilarious, sick and twisted, genius boy loved me.

that's all i would need for a very long time.

to be continued...

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